


Home Is Where Your Hands Are

by lilacsandlavender



Series: Bates Motel One-shots (that make me miss the show even more) [6]
Category: Bates Motel (2013)
Genre: :), F/M, Fluff, Headcanon, I just think Norma fancies Alex's hands, alright well..., concept idea fic, slight baby fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-26
Updated: 2020-12-26
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:06:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28332837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilacsandlavender/pseuds/lilacsandlavender
Summary: Norma Bates had always found herself admiring Alex Romero's hands from afar, and she doesn't know if she wants to stop looking. Then when they hug goodbye outside her motel, sparks fly on her end, and she's left contemplating what his hands mean to her.
Relationships: Norma Bates/Alex Romero
Series: Bates Motel One-shots (that make me miss the show even more) [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2014042
Comments: 8
Kudos: 16





	Home Is Where Your Hands Are

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hwy_unicorn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hwy_unicorn/gifts).



> So I noticed that in the show, Alex is very tender when it comes to being in contact with Norma, so I decided to make a compilation of their touches from Norma's perspective. Obviously I couldn't add every single physical instance, but this is just a small collection of some of them (plus one of my favorite headcanons added in). Hope you like it :)

_Norma Bates had always been fascinated with Alex Romero’s hands._

Before she was even aware of this fact, she’d catch herself staring at them, which left her having to hastily divert her eyes to keep from being caught and embarrassed.

Still, that didn’t distract from the fact that, while she always opened the motel office early, she made sure to be present at the front desk before Alex would come in for his morning cup of pre-work coffee, all so that she could watch his hands pick up the pot and pour the caffeinated liquid into a battered-looking, reusable, plastic to-go cup.

It didn’t distract that she kept noticing how subtly animated his hands moved in a habitual pattern while he talked, especially when he was trying to explain something of great importance to her.

And then sparks had flown.

Right outside cabin 7 of her motel.

When Alex had reached for her after he and she had confirmed to each other that they’d see the other around, her heart had nearly given out because the realization that Alex was not only going to touch her with his hands, but hug her? It all hit her quickly, leaving her without time to process any of it as he went from being in front of her to being in front _and_ around her; and all she could do was squeak, “oh- okay,” in a shy yet undoubtedly happy voice as their bodies made contact.

And when they hugged, it _still_ hadn’t been the arms that she’d dreamt many-a-time of seeing without clothing covering them which had done her in. It hadn’t been the smell of his leather jacket she’d caught a whiff of as she slightly tucked her head into the nape of his neck which had sent a shiver up her spine. And it hadn’t even been the biggest suspect, the feeling of his five o’clock shadow against her soft lips, that made her weak in the knees.

It was his hands again. One was stationed around her waist, resting cautiously on the small of her back, and the other had, with much hesitancy, rubbed the back of her grey cardigan. But neither were in the creepy fashion, and this was proven by the butterflies in Norma’s stomach that had all apparently decided to hatch from their cocoons at once. And as Alex drove away from the motel, his distinctly-marked SUV that had once intimidated but now was a sign of comfort to Norma fading into the horizon, it was like he’d caught all those butterflies in those hands of his and driven off with them.

Or at least Norma wished he’d done that, because she had been getting better at shutting down unsolicited thoughts about his hands. Key word: had.

Because when she burrowed in bed that same night after breaking into one of the Arcanum club’s elite parties, all she could think about was how Alex had been there, but it wasn’t simply the fact that he’d crept up on her which had made her jump then and blush furiously now in the dark. It was that he’d, to her horror, caught her as she watched the cabin’s ongoings while absentmindedly letting her mind drift into the dangerous thought of how it might feel to have his hands doing to her what she was witnessing just yards away. Trying to shove away her embarrassment, she’d asked him what he was doing there, and then nearly died when he’d uttered the words “flesh” and “pressing” in the same sentence, even as an innocent expression.

It hadn’t helped either that just days later, while waiting in Bob Paris’ expensive-looking lobby, Alex had, out of irritation, put a hand on her near-bare leg.

For it reminded her of the night before, when she couldn’t figure out his front door’s lock, and they’d embraced in his house, leaving her with the looping memory of Alex’s strong, firm, and comforting hands on her back and _how damn_ ** _good_** _it had felt._

She secretly wished she could come up with some situation, some lame excuse even, that would put her in that position to be able to feel his hands once more protecting her from the world, for while it sounded stupid – god, the first time he’d touched her was when he’d pinned her against his living room doorframe to keep her from her physical temper-tantrum attack – it was the truth: Alex with his stupid, beautiful hands made her feel like the safest girl in the world, and she’d had a lot to be protected from, too.

And then all of a sudden she was getting married to Alex Romero in White Pine Bay’s city hall, and the sparks had flown once more.

Their kiss had indeed left Norma wanting more, without a doubt the best first kiss she’d had with anyone, and her slightly breathless state in its aftermath left her hoping it’d be the last first kiss she’d experience.

Had his large hand not reached up to gently, firmly rest against her neck, his thumb brushing her jaw while his other hand guided her head towards his own, however, Norma knew deep down that the kiss wouldn’t have been as amazing, so she was thankful that his touch had preceded their show of affection _and_ lingered for a moment on her skin afterwards. For some reason, she’d felt like that contact had, in a way, been a signal that everything was going to be okay.

A promise that he was going to try to take care of her no matter how bad things became.

She’d been right, for every time he’d touched her from that moment on was incredibly deliberate and meaningful, from the time he’d unfurled her fingers to bring her hand into his that morning she was leaving for Portland to see Emma, to the time he’d done almost the exact same thing after sitting down on the piano bench with her.

And she got shivers each time she replayed the memory of how he’d held her waist while kissing her lower back the first time he’d undressed her, or the other time how he’d tickled her waist after zipping her dress up, for Lord knows Sam never had it in him to touch her like that. All she’d known _his_ hands to do was wave menacingly and slap her around.

Then on December 22nd, Norma had gone to sleep in her bed like usual but groggily woken up to the sensation of being shaken. When she’d regained a bit more consciousness, she was in Alex arms, and his face streaked with terror, sadness, and tears was the sight that greeted her. However, she’d been aware of his hands before her sight was returned, so she’d first focused how he’d been holding her face as he begged her to wake up. It had reminded her of their wedding day and that unvoiced promise, and it was then in the following days when she realized that the real reason for her love of his hands wasn’t due to the physical aspect of them. It was because they were an extension of his caring soul that loved her with his every fiber. A physical manifestation of how he had – and would continue to – shield and comfort her from a world that had offered her nothing but pain.

⭑ ⭑ ⭑

And on a sunny August afternoon the following year, Norma will tell Alex news that earns her an exclamation of zealous happiness and then nine months’ worth of time full of new reasons to love his hands.

He won’t be able to keep his hands off her stomach, even before she begins to start showing signs of pregnancy. In the past, Norma had usually been annoyed with people touching her growing middle, but for some reason she won’t mind the invasion of space when it comes to Alex.

She’ll want to blame the reason for her nonchalance on Alex being her husband and not a stranger, but no: she hadn’t loved John or Sam’s hands half as much nineteen and twenty-three years ago, so it’ll most probably be connected with how at night, when he thinks Norma is asleep, Alex brushes his fingertips across the spot where their baby lay and tells her – they’re sure it’s a she – all about the outside world and how beautiful her mother is.

When Norma feels the first flutter of movement from within at sixteen weeks, she’ll stop mincing garlic, grab one of those hands she loves, press it to the spot over her apron where tiny feet have made their presence known, and let out a choked laugh of joy as she watches Alex’s eyes grow almost wider than the smile that’ll refuse to leave his face for the rest of the night.

And she won’t be able to help but shed a waterfall of happy tears when she hears Alex, the tough-turned-soft sheriff, eagerly ask the nurse if he can hold his daughter; for while the second time she’ll see him openly cry moves her emotionally, it’s the way he’ll cradle the small newborn that will touch her the most.

It will be how Alex adjusts his grip to make sure their daughter’s head is properly supported with a hand easily half the size of her swaddled body that causes Norma to realize that none of the new parent books he’d bought and poured over throughout her pregnancy had taught him to smile like that at the little life they’d created, but instead it’s simply natural instinct for him to provide now the two greatest joys of his life with that age-old promise to love, support, and protect them till death did they part.

⭑ ⭑ ⭑

_Norma Romero is fascinated with her husband’s hands._

She observes the strength in them, in the same hands that she had caught being stuck into her motel’s ice bucket after their owner needed to “beat someone up” all those years ago now delicately handle her china plates as he washes the dishes. She has faith in them to them reach up to pick the apples and peaches that she can’t quite reach from the fruit trees out back. And when she and Alex’s four year-old daughter runs up to him with her hair brush, she gets to watch his hands start to exhibit muscle memory on how to French braid hair.

She’s come to accept that she’s never going to be able to possess the ability to not smile at the sight of his hands in action. But now Norma doesn’t have to worry about being caught by Alex, her _husband_ , for staring at his hands. She doesn’t have live lost in flighty daydreams of what they would feel like, for now they get lost in her hair in the morning, and she becomes lost in their touch at night.

Yes, the blonde motel owner is still obsessed, but it’s okay, for those hands are made up of palms that gently, _patiently_ , cradle her still-slowly-healing heart on its long-winded recovery path to being able to love and trust – maybe for the first time in her life – with her whole being. The hands consist of fingertips that trace an invisible path, and instead of being an emotional one, it’s a trail on Norma’s face that his fingertips have made familiar, but to only him and her.

Alex’s hands are responsible for both figuratively and literally saving her life, but they’ve become more than her saving grace and old wish upon a star.

They are Norma’s reminder that Alex is her home for forever and a day.


End file.
